


Rebound/Recover

by Leyenn



Series: Dreams of Honest Horn [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e01-02 Encounter at Farpoint, F/M, Imzadi, Past Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, oh my god so canon compliant it's insane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:23:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: Encounter at Farpoint.Running away and pretending they're over each other was never going to be a good approach.





	Rebound/Recover

She knows the instant he beams aboard, of course. She's almost certain he hasn't seen her name on the crew manifest - hopeful that even after all this time she still knows him well enough that he would have to call her if he did, be unwilling just to wait and let it play out when he could try and take some control of the situation.

She'd thought about it herself - he'd already been confirmed as First Officer when Picard offered her the position, she could have called him. Asked how he felt about the idea. She could have told Picard no.

But it's the _Enterprise_ , the flagship, and it's Will, and she's sure even with everything that's passed between them, they can find a way to just be friends. It's no big thing. She can put it well behind her, the way it obviously is for him. They could be an excellent team, one worthy of this ship, and the anticipation she feels leaving stardock for Deneb Four is just because of that.

And then she feels him literally materialise back into her life, and it only takes an instant to realise just how much she's been utterly, utterly fooling herself.

He's still decks away and already she knows it's not behind her, at all: that it's never going to be. She can't even imagine how she thought it was possible, or how she could have been so blind as to pretend she was going to turn this down, the chance to be near him again. How she could have pretended that even with all the control under her command, she could stop the dormant connection between her mind and his rising up like a flash flood the moment she looked in his eyes again, exactly the way it does.

 

*

 

There are no words for the moment that he steps out onto the bridge of the _Enterprise_ for the first time, and even that pales in comparison to the moment he steps out onto that same bridge and sees her again.

His breath actually stops in his chest: blood rushes hot in his ears and everything he knows narrows to just the sight of her standing there, just looking at him with perfect calm and a straight expression and yet he can _feel_ her smile and _oh, god._

He should have read the crew manifest. He knew the _Enterprise_ was the flagship, he knew there'd be a dedicated Counselor on the command team. He should have _checked._

But he didn't, and now she's standing right in front of him and it can't have been two years since he looked into her eyes - even longer since he felt this - because it's like it was yesterday.

 _Do you remember what I taught you, imzadi?_ The touch of her mind is like the feeling of sunlight after years in the cold of space: molten gold blazing along the bond that's been stretched so thin and left dark so long, and his head spins and it feels like the deck is tilting under his feet. There's such a tangle of emotion in that familiar touch, all of it so primal - joy and hurt and love and fear, all knotted together in the simple question; _Can you still sense my thoughts?_

And he _wants_ to reply, to say so many things, but he can't find any way to shape the words.

"A pleasure, Commander," Deanna says out loud, as if she hasn't just cracked his world apart all over again and damn it, _damn her_ , she must have known he was coming - how long has she known he was coming?

He's amazed his voice works, even to just croak out; "Likewise, Counselor."

Picard says, "Have the two of you met before?" and Deanna's laughter is like sparklers going off in his head, a feeling so familiar it sends electricity down the length of his spine.

He swallows hard. "We have, sir."

"Excellent." Surely Picard must be able to hear the tension in his voice, but the man is obviously professional enough not to give any sign of it. He's never envied someone's control so much, not even Deanna's. "I consider it important for my key officers to know each other's abilities."

This time he's the one with a silent laugh at how much that doesn't even _begin_ to cover it, but he's certain Deanna can hear it just as clearly.

 "We do, sir," she says, looking straight at him, with all the emotional harmonies of the Betazoid language cast against his mind under the words. "We do."

He looks away only because they're in the middle of a mission, their new Captain is watching, and there's a ribbon of hot golden-bronze woken up inside him wrapping itself back around his heart and he can't look into her eyes and not fall.

Deanna takes pity on him in hardly a moment and shifts her gaze away, too, but it hardly matters when she's right inside his head just as if she never left.

_I too could never say goodbye, imzadi._

 

*

 

He's thankful to every atom of the universe that Picard walks beside him in stoic silence and doesn't seem to expect conversation - seems happier without it, in fact - because the walk to the transporter room, the beam down: even years later he remembers nothing except that blazing brightness coursing through him, like three years of separation is catching up in fast forward inside his head. He's vaguely aware from the other side of that pulsing golden connection of Deanna trying to rein in her emotions, but he's out of practice and helpless against the part of him that's been longing to have this back every second since he left Betazed.

That part of him soaks her in like water, just as relentless and just as necessary. He manages to introduce Picard and the Groppler without tripping over his own tongue and it's an achievement worthy of celebration; he feels Deanna's relief/sympathy/apology when he gets the words out.

He's out of practice at this, too, but instinct makes him try to push understanding/acceptance/apology of his own back along the bond. Even without the complete certainty of _knowing_ her mind, even if he doesn't know why she didn't prepare for this - even if he's hurt her more than he can bear to think about - he'd never think Deanna cruel enough to do this on purpose.

Maybe that's why he has to restrain himself more than he expects at the distrust in Zorn's voice when Zorn says _bringing a Betazoid to this meeting_ , like she's just a tool to be made use of. He bites his lip and marvels at the gentling calm in her voice when he can see the fiery reaction underneath.

Then Zorn's own frustrations get the better of the man, and -

 

*

 

It doesn't start until Zorn says _someone like the Ferengi_ , and suddenly her head is _full_ \- loneliness, despair, pain, _such_ pain -

Will is moving even before the sharp gasp leaves her lips. Only seconds go by and there's the warmth of his hand on the stool beside her hip: the clumsy push of emotion from his mind to hers, trying to blanket her with something to drown out the pain. Tears sting and slide down her face because she's too focused on trying to shield her mind to worry how she looks.

She finds her voice to describe it to Picard, somehow, blinking the tears out of her eyes. A treacherous part of her says that she shouldn't _have_ to describe it to Will, but she pushes the thought away.

 

*

 

 _Perhaps you and I_ rings in his ears: she _must_ have known he couldn't say yes and he doesn't know why she asked, except that he can tell he's not the only one struggling for professional control under the surface. She could have said nothing at all and he'd still know how much she wants to get him alone, but this isn't the time - and wasn't that always the problem?

The way she looked at him, when he gave her Tasha and Geordi instead - he can still feel it half an hour later, walking through the mall with the intriguing Commander Data commenting on everything in sight. At least Data either doesn't notice or doesn't take offence at the way his tone is more curt than it should be.

He hates ordering her to open her mind up to whatever the hell is happening down here. It sends a stab of helplessness through him: reminds him exactly why he's been running from the idea of her _and_ his career for so long.

He forgets all of that the moment he hears her sob.

 

*

 

" _*Hold on, I'm coming,*_ " and even through the pain she hangs on that slip of the tongue like a life line. Not _we_ , but _I_.

Then he's there, waving La Forge away, saying, "I'm sorry," and when he touches her it's without thinking, his hand gentle on her shoulder but his mind simply opening to hers - not the tripping attempt at a rusty skill like in Zorn's office but an offer to simply take whatever she needs from him. It may be invisible to everyone around them, but it's made without hesitation and she gratefully sinks her mental grasp into the warm red-bronze texture of his mind, so achingly familiar and still so easy to take solace in.

"Close your mind to the pain," he says, just as gentle as his touch. His presence does make it easier to block it out, lets her focus on the tangle of other emotions buried beneath it until she can be sure of something that might help. She doesn't fail to notice how his hand lingers on her shoulder, at least until the frustration of this whole situation explodes out of him.

He helps her to her feet as La Forge is talking, leading them deeper into the tunnels with his own unique senses. She falls into step beside him and doesn't fail to notice the way he lets her, either.

 

*

 

He calls her _Troi_ because rank feels too formal, cruel even when he's the one who made her hurt, and even with her presence glowing faintly in his head, he's not sure he's allowed or even worthy of anything more personal any more. He knows he sounds impatient, snappish, but she _has_ been at it for too long and he hates the idea that she's suffering because he put her here.

This is why he ran away from her, and he's only more sure of that when her panic grabs at him and he runs all over again.

 

*

 

He's forgotten the way her voice sounds. How can he have forgotten that? And then that rage, that hate fills her tone and he feels vaguely sick, knowing how powerful those emotions must be for him to hear that slip - and knowing, too, that he's probably the only one who knows that isn't just normal for an empath, to be a helpless conduit of whatever emotion roars loudest around them.

But he shoves the tight ball of nausea down hard and where he let Geordi lead them through the tunnels under Farpoint, this time he follows Deanna through the maze of those same… no, not tunnels but corridors, all of them are corridors. He's almost beginning to put it all together. 

 

*

 

He goes to his door as it opens, because he already knows it's her.

"May I come in?"

It's a question asked out of social nicety, which is bad enough; but also true uncertainty, and that just feels ugly between them.

He steps aside, just like on the bridge - and just like on the bridge, he can't take his eyes off her as she walks past him, especially when this time it's into the privacy of his quarters and when the doors close, for the first time in three years they're alone together.

He can feel the deep breath she takes as if it's drawn into his own chest. He feels like he's back on the bridge entirely, his head spinning as he tries to make sense of _her_ , _here_.

Uncomfortable is the wrong word for this silence: it's charged, heady and heavy, like they're back in Jalara with a rainstorm crackling overhead. But hasn't he always been the one to face dangerous territory head on?

He takes a breath of his own. "Deanna-"

She turns around at the same time. "Will-"

"Down at Farpoint." He talks over her because it's just obscene if she manages to apologise first. "I shouldn't have been so harsh."

"I wasn't exactly professional." She looks away, awkwardly. "It's just… been a long time, since…"

Since she shared his mind, the way only she ever has. Since this molten cord around his heart wasn't still and silent, didn't beat in time with hers.

And then he opened the door and let her use him as a safe haven and expected her not to react at him diving headlong into danger. He's such an idiot.

"I didn't mean for this," she says quietly.

"I know." It's hardly as if she need say it out loud. "I mean… I can tell." He touches his temple.

She winces. "I'm sorry," and he can feel how she's making the effort to _say_ it, even though it's crystal clear in his sense of her. "It’s not an excuse, but I honestly thought this would be easy. That I wouldn't… feel like this."

He has to laugh at that. "And I thought I was the expert at denial." After all, he's always known that he isn't over her, even when he refuses to admit it to himself. She's right, damn her - and damn him for it - he never said a goodbye because he never _could_. Deanna isn't just a chapter of his life that he can finish, wrap up neatly and move on from. He's been running away because he knows that all too well.

"I don't think either of us could ever have quite been prepared," he says softly, and gets a smile just as soft in return.

"That's true."

"Deanna." He steps toward her. They're in the wild spaces now and this ship isn't big enough for either of them to escape this conversation. "I'm sorry we haven't talked in so long. I wish - I don't know-"

"Will." She touches a fingertip ever so briefly to his lips with a small shake of her head. "Don't. Don't wish for what isn't to be."

His lips tingle. He valiantly ignores it. The word _mate_ flits through his mind, not for the first time this evening, as he folds her hand into his. He's clearly aware that she's only silent now because she's letting him find the right words, so he tries to find them for her.

As it turns out, they're not the ones he's rehearsed in the dark, in the lonely middle of the night when he wakes dreaming of her. Not the ones he's written a dozen times and more and never sent, even with the false bravery of synthehol behind him.

They're so very simple, in the end.

"I know…" His throat hurts just getting it out. "I know I've hurt you. I know how much." It's not a platitude but a certainty. He knows as well that she understands: that he can feel it, the scabbed-over pain that's bleeding all over again despite her careful control and instinctive joy at seeing him again; that he knows he's not going to be able to make that go away easily.

He's not sure he'll ever be able to make it go away at all.

And yet, Deanna reaches up, slow enough to let him stop her if he wanted to, to rest her other hand against his cheek. He presses his lips into the curve of her wrist and closes his eyes.

 _Yes. I can still hear you._ Even that effort takes the breath out of him - or it's the way she smiles, like his own private sun rising deep inside him. His chest clenches tight and it's his own pain welling up, because it feels like she might actually _forgive_ him and that hurts, inexplicably, far more than if she can't. "I'm sorry," he says, and he's never meant anything more. "Deanna, I'm sorry-"

His voice catches. Deanna flattens her hand against his chest, as if her touch can help him breathe. He thinks it might. His guilt doesn't know how he can even look at her, except he can't look away from her eyes. "I don't know how to make this work. I never did."

"I know." Of course she does. She's always known that he wants, _loves_ , her and Starfleet in measures too equal to choose between them, he just doesn't know how to have them both.

He sighs, rubs a hand over his eyes. "I thought about you being there, every time I went off on a mission. Waiting - wondering if I was going to come back safe - and even if I did, you'd always know that it didn't end there. That there'd always be the next day, and the day after. What it would do to you."

"You were afraid that you couldn't cope." He's not sure if she's just realising that, or just helping him say it. "Not with _us -_ with watching your career come between us."

"That I'd stop being myself to keep from hurting you. I would have done anything for you."

Her hand presses harder to his chest. "Will-"

But he hasn't told her this, any of this, and now that he's started he can't stop. "I thought about... the idea of taking an assignment on Earth, or Betazed, or behind a desk somewhere, and I realised I actually could have done it. For you."

Deanna sighs. _Imzadi,_ he hears in his head. _I never wanted that from you._

He knows that's true - that's part of the problem. Deanna's never wanted him to be anything other than the man she fell in love with, up to and including his career.

"We'll work it out," she says out loud, and strokes her thumb across his heart.

He wants to believe her.

 

*

 

She's sitting on the bridge the morning they leave Deneb, as they wait for all stations to report ready, when she feels him looking at her - and then, a moment later, his careful, hopeful, questioning touch against the edge of her now re-shielded mind.

It's a little clumsy, perhaps - reminds her somewhat of the very first time he managed to make her hear him - but it's a peace offering, a plea for reconnection even more plain than the Captain's insistence on the Bandii rebuilding Farpoint with Starfleet help.

She turns her head to meet his gaze across Picard's line of view, and gifts him a smile as she offers her reply: the memory of glowing tendrils meeting in a tender caress.

He looks away quickly as Picard catches him looking and shoots her a glance, as if trying to catch the conversation: she turns back to the viewer, trying to school her smile and failing, and Will's emotions brighten into laughter and something like hope.

 

**


End file.
